


Heartbeats at your feet

by corneliitammy



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Trans girl Oikawa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-21 10:31:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9543872
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/corneliitammy/pseuds/corneliitammy
Summary: Iwaizumi tries his best to glare Oikawa down, but it’s hard when she’s smiling like this, the edge of her mouth soft with the slightest hint of mischief.





	

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about trans girl oik all morning so i naturally had to write some soft and tender iwaoi featuring her

Oikawa’s bedroom has always been surprisingly bare. You’d think someone with such an exuberant personality would fill their space with pictures, mementoes and string lights or plaster half a dozen alien themed posters on the walls. But the room only ever had necessities: a low table serving as a desk under the shoji window, a cushioned blue zeisu and a five-drawers dresser. Without her futon spread out against the tatami mats, the bedroom often seems bigger than it actually is.

At first glance, it’s a space to sleep and nothing more, the only personal touches being the volleyballs thrown in a corner of the room, a few knick knacks on her desk and maybe the coffee stain on the mat, proof of her being an obsessive idiot and watching matches' recordings until the wee hours. The best setter award sits beside her desktop computer, and three years later she still views it as her greatest achievement even when she proved to be so much more.

The room never felt impersonal to Iwaizumi, though. It can’t possibly be, not when he spends as much time between these four walls as he does inside his own house.

He knows Oikawa’s top drawer is full of hair and skin care products, and she preaches to however willing to listen how important an orthodox skin care routine is. He knows that she keeps decorative shams in her closet, and whenever it's time to roll out her futon, the colorful pillows instantly brighten up the room. He knows there's a box filled with comic books stored under her hanged coats and another one, older, filled with various objects they collected during their "adventures" as kids. He keeps a similar one underneath his bed since apparently they're both sentimental saps. 

But above it all, the room is filled with memories of their shared childhood.

There’s the physical evidence he sees everytime he steps inside the room : the edge of the sliding door has dents were they used to mark their height through the years, until Oikawa caught up with him in middle school and eventually outgrew him, never not bloasting about those extra 5 cm.

There's the fleeting memory of their first sleepover, barely five and Iwaizumi remembers angrily scratching his arm under his futon because Oikawa had pushed him in a nettle-filled bush after he threw a beetle at her. Or that rainy day Oikawa’s mother ushered them inside so they didn’t end up covered in mud playing volleyball, yet Oikawa still insisted on tossing to him inside her room and subsequently tore the shoji window, getting them both scolded. Laying on the tatami mats and eating watermelon on a hot summer day while arguing about the superiority of godzillas and aliens. Celebrating their first win as Kitagawa Daiichi's first years with too much melon soda and comforting each other after their first loss against Shiratorizawa. Their first kiss, their clumsy first time. Mourning their final chance at going to national, Oikawa not allowing herself to cry until she had her face pressed against her duvet, because she had to be the dependable captain her team needed.

It’s the room where Oikawa doesn’t have to pretend to be anything she’s not.

Iwaizumi is currently laying on Oikawa’s futon, sprawling out in the most relaxed position one can assume without being either asleep or dead, and he waits for her to bring up snacks. He feels the warmth of the sunrays on his skin and it’s conforting, calming. He closes his eyes and sighs, taking in the familiar sent.

The shikibuton dips next to him. Iwaizumi cracks an eye open and watches Oikawa squeeze herself next to him, eyes never leaving her phone. The futon is too small for two tall teenagers, so they wrestle and wriggle and push at each other until Oikawa gives in and rests her head on Iwaizumi’s stomach, putting her feet up her zeisu's backrest. She hands him togarashi spiced crackers and he crinkles his nose in distate as Oikawa opens a Jyaga Choko.

“Gross,” he comments when she pops a few chocolate coated potato chips in her mouth.

“Your face is gross,” she shoots back without looking up from the screen, wiping crumbs and chocolate covered fingers on Iwaizumi’s shirt before scrolling down her Instagram feed.

He tugs at her hair in retaliation, but ends up absentmindedly running his fingers in the soft brown curls. It’s always shiny and smells like coconut or whatever fruity conditioner she uses. She recently started growing her hair out, now that it wouldn’t get in the way of volleyball as the third years officially retired from the VBC club. It curls around her ears and brushes against her cheeks. It squeezes Iwaizumi’s heart that she can’t quite present herself the way she wants to be, not yet, he still has to misgender Oikawa outside the privacy of her room, but she’s getting more comfortable with her gender, researching and being more vocal about her wish to eventually transition, even if it’s to splurt bullshit like _“I’ll have the biggest boobs, Iwa-chan, just wait and see."_

After a while, Oikawa shifts against his side and sets her phone down, turning around to press her face against Iwaizumi’s shirt and throwing an arm around his waist.

Iwaizumi sighs contently when a hand starts drawing slow circles on his hips. Just when he begins to think Oikawa’s all cute and cuddly, he feels cold fingers sneak under the waistline of his sweatpants. He swats the offending hand away and smothers Oikawa’s pretty face with his free palm.

“Brute,” she complains, lips pursed and cheeks puffed under his fingers.

“Why are you like this?"

“Charming and beautiful? One of my many selling points!" She says cheerfully and, since she's apparently in one of her bug-the-ever-loving-fuck-out-of-Iwa-chan moods, adds : "Of course, you wouldn't understand the importance of such traits, since you were not blessed with similar ones, and to top it off your remaining brain cells have decided to make a run for it. What a tragic existence!"

Iwaiumi tries his best to glare Oikawa down, but it’s hard when she’s smiling like this, the edge of her mouth soft with the slightest hint of mischief. He likes this Oikawa best, the one with a crooked smile on her lips, not the grin as wide as it's fake she throws at teachers and blushing girls.

“That didn’t even make sense," he mumbles as she pretends to wipe a tear away.

“It was a jab at your intelligence,” Oikawa explains slowly as if talking to a child, “In case you missed it.”

“I won’t miss your face when I’ll aim a punch at it."

“See ? Brutish. Always resorting to violence like the neanderthal you are."

“Why do I even put up with you ?”

“Say what you want,” Oikawa sing-songs, “You know you can’t get enough of me.”

She wraps a hand around his wrist before he can cuff the back of her head, brigging his hand to her mouth to drop kisses against his knuckles. Iwaizumi feels all kinds of warm and twisty inside, so he insults Oikawa as she tangles their fingers together. He feels her chuckles rumbling in her chest.

"Brat," he mutters with more affection seeping into his voice than originally intended, but eventually gives in, running his thumb against her open palm.

Iwaizumi rubs the callous pulp of her fingers with his own.

Oikawa won’t set for him in an official match anymore. They're heading to different universities, and while they already agreed on sharing an apartment even if that means 30 minutes commuting, they won't stand in the same court's side anymore.

He's hit by sudden nostalgia, so he returns Oikawa's earlier gesture, kissing the tips of her fingers.

"Aw," she coos exaggeratedly, "Iwa-chan is getting soft. Finally treating me the way I should be treated."

“Am I here for any particular reason other than for you to torment me this fine Sunday afternoon ?”

Oikawa shrugs. “You’re here because you enjoy my delightful company."

"You know what color would look good on you? Modesty. You should try it sometime."

“Also we should definitely make out," she continues, pretending she didn't hear his previous comment.

“I dunno,” Iwaizumi says as he hooks his arms behind his head and pretends to consider the offer. Oikawa looks affronted he even has the nerve to. “I thought my face was gross."

“Yes, well, I don't remember saying I had good taste.”

"Then I guess I don't wanna share saliva with trash."

She squeaks indignantly, but the pinched expression is soon replaced with a shit-eating one.

With an attractive curl at the corner of her lips, she shoves Iwaizumi on the shoulder so that he stumbles back on the futon. He opens his mouth to throw  some more insults, but she shuts him up by sliding her fingers up his chest in one slow, smooth movement, framing the side of his jaw before gently kissing his mouth. Her lips are soft and warm and taste like salty chocolate mixed with her favorite lip balm. It's intoxicating, and he turns into putty underneath her. She pulls back briefly to huff out a laugh at Iwaizumi flushed face, nipping at his lower lips.

Oikawa looks monstrously smug.

"Iwa-chan, you're really red."

Iwaizumi reaches up to brush Oikawa’s bangs out of her eyes. There’s a tiny scar close to her hairline she had gotten when falling trying to climb up a tree when she was 7.

“I hate you,” he says with great dignity

“You love me. I’m your favorite person in the whole world.”

Oikawa levers herself down enough to plant another wet kiss on Iwaizumi’s lips.  
   
With an eye roll, Iwaizumi flops back down against the pillow, and doesn't bother denying Oikawa's statement.


End file.
